


Jaime and Brienne's Westerosi adventures

by ChocoNut



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Road Trip, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fake Marriage, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Modern Westeros, Resolved in the end, Rom-com (sort of), Romance, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:35:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23261821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocoNut/pseuds/ChocoNut
Summary: Brienne Tarth, an aspiring writer finds an injured Jaime Lannister one night on the highway. On the run from his father and an engagement he doesn't want to honour, he has a favour to ask of her - to help him get to Dorne to his childhood sweetheart Cersei. In return, he promises to help Brienne with her next novel.Thus begins a road-trip that will change their lives.Edit (18-November-2020) : No, this isn’t abandoned, and will not be. I will return to this, though how soon, I can’t say, yet.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 37
Kudos: 82





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This has been nagging me all through this isolation phase, and now that I'm almost at the end of "From betrothal to marriage" I thought, why not begin with this.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading and hope you have fun with it!
> 
> Note : Rating will most likely go up to E at a later stage.

_Is that someone lying there?_

Brienne pulled over to the side and got out immediately. She glanced around to check for any signs of foul play or a possible trap, but the highway was deserted as of now, save for her and the figure huddled in the corner. Leaving her headlights on, she cautiously approached the stranger, her heart thudding at a pace, she feared, could be heard from miles away. Her unknown companion could be anyone from a petty thief to a rapist or a murderer. While common sense told her to ignore him and get away, instinct urged her to stop by and find out.

And her instinct had never yet let her down.

“Help me,” the man weakly moaned, looking up at her when she crouched by his side.

Bleeding from a nasty cut on his forehead, he looked a pitiable sight. Late-thirties, touching forty, Brienne estimated at first glance, and if it weren’t for the sorry state he was in, he would’ve been quite handsome. She knelt there, looking into the eyes that begged her to assist, and for some odd reason, he looked dreadfully familiar, like she’d seen him somewhere. Many times. 

“Please,” he croaked again.

“Right.” She pulled out her phone from her pocket. “I’ll call an ambulance--”

He grabbed her wrist, startling her. “No!”

“But you’re hurt--”

“Just--just get me out of here,” he said, his eyelids fluttering madly as his speech began to get incoherent. “Before someone finds us.”

“Who--” _are you,_ she meant to ask, but he collapsed, unconscious as a stone.

A call to the emergency helpline would be the most logical thing to sort this out, but just as she was about to key in the number, his desperate words and the terrified look in his eyes returned to haunt her, and she took another good look at him. From his appearance, he seemed to be decent and respectable and affluent, his crisp branded shirt, though now ruined by a bloody patch at the hip, and expensive jeans telling her that the chances of him being a criminal was next to nil.

She searched his clothes, but could find no wallet, no id, no phone. Nothing. Robbery definitely seemed to be the motive behind his mysterious attack, his attackers mugging him and tossing him off to a corner when they were done with stripping him off his possessions. 

But what was she to do with him?

She surveyed her surroundings. Barring the occasional vehicle zooming past them, not a soul was to be found nearby. Going by his frantic plea to keep him hidden, she couldn’t turn him over to the police or admit him to a nearby hospital. 

But she couldn’t leave him to die on the road either. 

Trusting her gut feeling and hoping this wasn’t a big mistake, she dragged him down to her car and hauled him in. Slipping in and out of consciousness on the way back, all the man kept muttering incoherent words, none of which she could make any sense of. 

But thankfully when she reached home, he was conscious enough to walk with her support, but the moment she took him to the guest bedroom, he slumped on the bed. He lay there still, and Brienne did her best to mop up the cut on his head, then stripped off his shirt to tend to the smaller wound on his hip. And when she was about to cover it with a gauze, he stirred awake, wincing in pain when he tried to get up.

“Easy there,” Brienne warned, helping him to a sitting position. “You’ve been in and out of consciousness for a while, so I'd suggest--”

“What is this place?” His voice was hoarse and dry.

“My flat. You’re safe here.” She wanted to calm him down before she could try getting some answers. “I’ve cleaned your wound and disinfected it, but you need some stitches. We need someone qualified to attend to--”

“No doctor,” he stopped her, firm and clear. 

Panic rose in those eyes. Emerald green, Brienne noted, brimming with brilliance and intelligence, but not good enough yet to take decisions. “You fainted. We can’t leave it like this!” she stood her ground, tired of his refusal to call for help. But when he refused to relieve her of his beseeching gaze, she found herself melting down and quickly searched her mind for alternatives. “I have a friend, a doctor who can help,” she suggested. “She won’t breathe a word of this outside.”

Her guest considered her idea for what seemed to be an endless spell of silence, then reluctantly agreed. “Fine.”

“Good.” She heaved a sigh of relief. “I’ll call Sansa and ask her to come over right away.”

+++++

Sansa led her outside when she’d finished examining him. “Nothing serious. No head injury barring this cut, so he’ll be fine in a couple of days.”

“Thank you for coming immediately,” Brienne said, glad she had someone she could rely on.

“Anytime,” her friend acknowledged with a smile which soon gave way to anxious disapproval. “But do you think it’s safe for you to shelter him here? You say he’s a stranger, he could be anyone, anything--”

“Dunno, but he appears to be the decent sort.” For some reason, Brienne decided to cling on to her assumption. “I’m interested in finding out who he is before I pass a blanket judgement on him.”

Sansa still didn’t seem to concur.

“Don’t worry,” Brienne pacified her friend. “If he’s dangerous, I’ll turn him in. I promise.”

“What if he attacks you?”

“I’m sure I can handle an injured man,” she assured her friend. “I’ve dealt with far worse.”

Convinced, at last, Sansa left after giving her some instructions about how to tend to his wounds. 

Deciding it was time she got herself some answers, Brienne went in to meet the stranger. “Who are you and why were you lying there, alone and bleeding?” she came straight to the point, sitting down by his side.

He looked away without replying.

“Look, if you need my help you’d better start trusting me.” This air of suspense around him was beginning to frustrate her. “If you don’t speak up, I’m going to have to call the police--”

“Jaime Lannister,” he introduced himself, “son of--”

“Tywin Lannister!” 

Now it struck her. No wonder he looked awfully familiar. Almost as tall as her and well-built, the square jaw was something she wouldn’t easily forget. The handsome face (although covered with a good bit of stubble now) and piercing green eyes, she’d seen countless times, in newspapers, gossip magazines and corporate journals. “You’re the heir to the Lannister group of industries--”

“Which I’m not interested in,” he bitterly cut in. “Anyone who wants to run it can feel free to have it.”

“It is your father I should call then,” she decided, relieved she hadn’t got involved with the shady sorts. “He’ll send someone to get you and you’ll be okay--”

“No,” he barked again. “I can’t go back home.”

This was getting curioser and curioser. 

“Why?” She looked his eyes in an interrogating gaze, trying to wrench the truth out of him. “Were you running from your family?” When she put her brain to work, she recalled reading about some tiff between father and son. “Aren’t you engaged to Margaery Tyrell?” she burst out with another piece of information that hit her, news images of the happy couple flashing before her eyes.

“Hmm.” He seemed far from happy about it. “That’s partly why I’m on the run.” When she stared at him, blank, he proceeded to explain. “You might have read all about me. Blessed with an inherited business that’s flourishing, an abundance of wealth to last a few generations, and a lovely bride who awaits my hand at the altar, I’ve been touted as one of the luckiest men in the country,” he announced with an acrid touch of sarcasm to his words. “What more could I ask for when--” he huffed a laugh before his face deflated to dejection “--all I want is a lowkey job and a quiet life with Cersei.”

“Cersei?” That name did not immediately ring a bell.

“My cousin--well, not first cousin, really, but a distant one. She’s a Lannister too.” His face lit up at the mention of her, bringing to his lips a smile any woman would swoon for. “My father is bent upon this marriage of convenience I’m being bound to. He doesn’t approve of--”

“Let me guess,” Brienne tried to fill in the rest. “Poor little rich boy, sick of his father’s wealth, tired of living under his shadow wants to break away and get back to his childhood sweetheart?”

“More or less,” Jaime agreed. “With the intention to get away to Dorne, where there’s a new identity, a job and the love of my life waiting for me, I left home but--” He looked down at himself. “Never thought I’d be left with nothing... not even my shirt--”

“I’ll find you another.” Brienne felt her pulse surge at the sight of his well-toned muscles, strong arms and broad chest. “I had to undress you to--”

“That’s okay,” he quipped, a ghost of a smile showing up on his face. “Women clamour to undress me all the time, Miss--” he paused, waiting for her.

“Brienne Tarth.” Tearing her eyes off his bare skin, she levelled them with his gaze, keen to extract the truth in its entirety. “So your father sent his men after you? To capture you and take you back to Casterly Rock?”

His answer was a wry smile of agreement. “The Tyrells are a powerful family. To call off the alliance would mean a huge disgrace to both houses, a blot on my father’s blemish-less social image.”

There was still one missing link. “All this doesn’t explain your lying on the road, injured and broken.”

“I was mugged,” he explained, narrowing his eyes in recollection. “They were a bunch of petty thugs, a group big enough to outnumber me. When they knew who I am, they decided to hold me hostage, eager to return me to my father and claim their reward. But I managed to escape when they stopped for petrol. Injured in the scuffle, I couldn’t run far. That’s when you found me.”

When he stifled a yawn. Brienne looked at her watch. “Sleep now,” she said, getting up. “We can discuss the rest of the story in the morning.”

+++++

When she brought him his morning tea, Jaime greeted her with a bright and cheerful, “Good morning,” the medication and sleep doing a whole lot of good for his appearance.

“How’re you feeling?”

“Much better.” He made a disgusted face. “Just need a bath, though. Feeling icky all over.”

“You can use the shower.” She began sipping her tea. “I’ll find you some clothes as soon as I’m out of here--”

“I have to get to Dorne.”

She searched his face to make sure he wasn’t still delirious. “You can’t go out anywhere for the next few days,” she made it clear, firm and conclusive. “Not while you’re still weak.”

“Fine. When I’m better, then.” He looked far more determined than her and Brienne was beginning to get the feeling she was being dragged deeper into this. “I’m indebted to you, Ms. Tarth, for saving my life and offering me shelter. But I have one more favour to ask of you.”

“How can I possibly help?”

“I have no money, no resources,” he admitted in a woeful tone. “I can’t call any of my friends or acquaintances for fear of being tracked down by my father.”

“But your bank accounts--”

“All my cards are gone along with my cash,” he murmured, patting his jeans pockets. “There’s nothing I can do, Ms. Tarth, except rely on you to assist me on this trip--”

“But I--”

“I promise to reimburse all expenses,” he began to tempt her, “and anything at all in addition that you might want.”

“I don’t need your money, Mr. Lannister,” she indignantly turned him down. “That’s not why I helped you last night.”

Jaime said nothing for about thirty seconds, then looked at her, long and hard. “What is your job, Brienne?”

_A failed journalist. An aspiring freelance writer who could get nowhere despite repeated attempts._

“Ms. Tarth?”

“I’m a writer,” she said, unable to lie to this man.

“A columnist?”

She sucked in her disappointment. “A novelist.” 

“Really?” He perked up. “What have you written?”

“ _Her way with swords,_ ” she half-heartedly divulged. That was her first, followed by the more disastrous, “ _Just_ _deserts_ \--”

“Are you Eden Evenstar?” The look of awe on his face so genuine that Brienne couldn’t digest it. She'd barely been able to meet her expenses from the sales of these and here was this man who claimed to recognize her. 

“Yes, but maybe you’re mistaking me for someone else.”

“Are you kidding me?” His eyes shone like bright jewels. “I loved ‘ _Her way with swords’_. Do you practise swordplay, Ms. Tarth?”

“I’ve dabbled in it.” What was it about this man that drew her out to spill out her personal secrets? Not wanting to get overly involved with him, she decided to bring the topic to a close. “I’m sorry, Mr. Lannister, I can’t do this--”

“Not even if I help you gather the content for your next novel?” 

His eyes were inviting her to take the bait, and try as she might, she couldn’t hold back from uncovering more of this. “How do you mean?”

“ _Jaime and Brienne’s Westerosi Adventures_ ,” he grandly announced with a disarming grin that had the power to make weak-hearted women swoon. 

She didn’t know whether to laugh or to criticise him. “You do realize I can’t use our real names.”

“Oh, how does a title matter?” He casually shrugged her away. “Make it _Adam and Eve’s Westerosi Adventures_ or whatever else sounds good to you.”

Of course it wasn’t important enough to him. “Are you ridiculing me, Mr. Lannister?”

“Not at all,” he said, his palm on his heart. “It could be your new story, our story, our road-trip--”

Brienne choked on her tea. “A road trip?”

“I can’t go flying around the country, can I?” he told her like he was pointing out the obvious to a child. “I have to travel under a fake name, using means of transport that don’t involve any booking or paperwork--”

“You do need an id to hire a car.”

“ _You_ do,” he slyly corrected her, “not me, if we travel together.”

She had to give him due credit for conjuring plans out of thin air. “You seem to have thought through the whole thing instead of sleeping last night.” 

He tried to bribe her with a charming smile again. “I did have a lot of free time.”

She couldn’t help admiring his love for this unknown Cersei, though. No man had ever done such a thing for her, so this woman was, indeed, quite lucky to have a man like Jaime brave his family to cross half the country for her.

“Think about it,” he pressed on, keenly observing her. “You’ll have a ton of practical experiences to pen down, authentic and first-hand, and I’m sure they’ll be an instant hit. And--” he leaned closer “--I’m quite an influential man who happens to have some valuable contacts in Dorne, a publisher or two even well-known authors would die for. I can help you acquire the fame you deserve, Brienne.”

It was tempting, no doubt. She couldn’t deny it. “How can I trust you?” she voiced the biggest worry nagging her. “If you try to act funny--”

“I’m sure you can take care of yourself and turn me in.” There was a touch of admiration in his voice. “I overheard you tell your friend, the doctor, last night.”

“What if you go back on your word?”

He sat up straight, his chest broadening with pride. “I’m a Lannister. A Lannister always pays his debts. I assure you, Ms. Tarth, that at the end of this trip, you will be the proud author of a bestseller.” Losing his pompous tone, he added, “I’ve read your work. I have faith in your talent. You'll make it to the stars.”

With nowhere to go in her career and an ailing father to support, she’d lose nothing in giving it a shot. “How do you propose we go about it, Mr. Lannister--”

“ _Jaime._ ” He held out his hand. “My name’s Jaime. And it’s a deal.”

She shook it, sealing her half of the bargain. “So what do we do first?”

“You book us a vehicle and we get out of King’s Landing, assuming made-up identities and posing as a newly-wed couple on our honeymoon--” 

With a loud cough she couldn’t control, she pulled her hand away. “ _Honeymoon?_ ”

“Of course! What better cover can there be?” he enthusiastically explained. “The rest, we plan as we go about it.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A change in plan, and they set off.

“Hey, would you mind helping me out with this, Brienne?” 

Brienne gaped at him, her eyes wandering to his chest, his abdomen, before resting on the towel tightly wrapped around his waist. “You can’t strut around my house like--” her gaze rose to his bare chest again, mild traces of pink decorating her freckled cheeks “-- _this_ , wearing just a towel.”

“I had to come seek your help midway,” Jaime explained himself, frustrated with his failed attempt at colouring his hair. “I’ve never done this before.”

Now that her initial shock had worn off, she looked skeptical. “You think a shade of brown’s gonna serve as a disguise? You’re a public figure in this half of the country. Merely hiding your hair isn’t going to do much.”

“Anything's better than my easily recognizable golden head,” he shrugged. “Now are you going to help me or--”

“Alright,” she relented with a sigh, “let’s get on with it,” then followed him to his room and into the bathroom.

She got to work, parting the strands of his hair and swiping through them methodically, meticulously. When she paused to switch sides, her hand gliding downwards accidentally and her palm coming to rest on his chest for a fleeting moment, Jaime was shaken by an troubling jolt of sensations down his groin. He shuffled in his seat to reduce the impact, to battle the shiver down his spine. 

Frowning at the disruption, Brienne breathed down on him, worsening his condition. “Why the hell are you so fidgety?”

“Backache,” he lied, bracing himself for more of this when she resumed.

Every time her fingers swept past his ear or neck to wipe away a rogue drop or two, it was torture for him, her touch, bothering him, alarming him. Heightening his discomfort, was his view from his perch on the stool, for her breasts were in perfect alignment with his line of vision. _Not full or ample, but not small either_ , he decided, unable to stop picturing them in his mind’s eye, _just the right size for any man to grab a handful of each and caress them--_

“Can’t you keep still?” she scolded, jolting him out of the dangerous visions brewing in his head.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, distracted and uneasy. That she was leaning so close to him that he had a full view down her tee only worsened the rush of his hormones.

She grasped his arm with her free hand and pinned him into position. “Just try not to move.”

 _Not interested,_ he strongly chided his involuntary reflexes, and forced himself to focus on the sink, a sight far safer than the one thrust into his face. _I’m missing Cersei far too much._

“So what have you decided?” he asked her, hoping a conversation would be an able distraction from this awkward situation he’d willingly walked into. It had been a week since he’d made her the offer, and while initially enthused with the idea of a juicy story, Brienne had fallen silent and elusive after he’d suggested they travel as a newly-wed couple.

She continued running the brush through his hair. “I haven’t yet made up my mind.”

“And what’s keeping you from it?”

She put down the brush and pressed a thumb to his chest, just above his nipple to get rid of a rapidly spreading patch, her other hand tightly gripping his collarbone. “Posing as your wife would mean--” Carefully avoiding his eyes, she began attacking the stain with a clean piece of damp cotton. “I don’t think I’m comfortable with the idea of sticking too close to a stranger.”

Jaime could feel her exhale down his skin, her fingers, gloved though they were, setting off unwelcome sparks all through his body. “I’m in love and dying to marry my girlfriend,” he said, hoping that voicing out his agenda would help ease this strange problem. “Do you think I’d be comfortable with spending days and nights with another woman?” 

She quietly went about her task, her breathing, even, her chest, rising and falling at a steady pace.

All he wanted was to be with Cersei and if it meant putting up with this overly principled and upright woman, so be it. “Rest assured, Ms. Tarth, I’ll put you through nothing that’ll make you cringe.” While he had no interest in his surly hostess, he couldn’t help feeling a bit pricked by her reluctance. Women everywhere swooned over him, and anyone else in her place would’ve given an arm and a leg for an opportunity to spend a few days with him, let alone a golden chance to boost her sagging career.

Her hand lingered on his chest for a few heart-stopping seconds, but she nodded, at last, and Jaime relaxed in his precarious perch, relieved, his heart soaring at the prospect of leaving this house-arrest and making some progress towards his destination.

She stepped back without another word and handed him the brush. “I’ve got to go. I think you can manage the rest yourself.” 

“Thank you, Brienne.” His body was stiff and aching from the same position, the extra effort of warding off the effect of her proximity and touch, adding to the soreness of his muscles. 

She lingered by the door, not immediately leaving. “Your father has bumped up the reward for anyone who informs him of your whereabouts. It’s going to be a task getting out of the city.”

“I know the right person who can facilitate this for us,” Jaime thought aloud, a plan beginning to take shape in his mind. “I’ll call and speak to him later.”

+++++

“Meet Bronn,” Jaime introduced his friend. “He’s--”

“--a loyal employee of Lannister Senior.” Throwing Brienne a flirtatious smile, Bronn held out his hand. “And a friend of his younger son.”

Brienne looked from one man to the other. “You never said you had such resourceful friends,” she complained to Jaime. “Can’t he help you get to Cersei?” 

“I’m short of funds, so useless, in short,” Bronn explained. “And even if I did have the money, it’s too much of a risk, to be honest.” He turned to Jaime. “So what’s your plan, Lannister?”

“To drive to Dorne under an assumed identity you’re going to provide me with.”

Bronn’s mouth curved in a smirk. “And you think daddy’s gonna just let you zoom away to your beloved?” He pulled out something on his phone, another news article from the looks of it. ‘ _Billionaire heir defies father; leaves home to be with his girlfriend’,_ it read, going on to further elaborate that his father had issued a statement that he’d leave no stone unturned to get his son back.

“From whatever info I could gather, he has all the routes to Dorne covered, his eyes and ears planted at every airport, train station and check-points at all important roads leading south and south-west out of the capital,” Bronn gave him the gist. “He knows you’ll go after Cersei. He’s smarter than you, Jaime.”

This unsavoury revelation pushed him back two steps. “There has to be a way. I can’t be stuck here forever.”

“There is actually a way,” Bronn said, but his eyes told Jaime he wasn’t going to like it. 

“Would you care to tell me about it?”

“Dorne is a hotspot for your father’s men. So you'd better avoid going there.” Bronn’s tone and forced patience looked like he was explaining the obvious, like telling a child two and two made four.

Jaime felt like he was on a wild-goose chase. “That doesn’t solve my problem. Cersei’s in Dorne--”

“But you can meet her somewhere else,” his friend cut in, going on with his plan. “Get out of here, but go someplace your father wouldn’t expect you to travel to.” He paused to pull out a map of Westeros on his phone. “The Kingsroad and every other major exit is teeming with Lannister men.” He traced a path down to Dorne, to his left towards Highgarden and everywhere else that wasn’t--

“North,” Jaime noticed, observing the orange line of the highway that snaked outside the city and upwards, right up to Castle Black.

“Precisely,” Bronn said with thumping confidence. “Go to Winterfell. That’s the safest for you--”

“That’s madness!” Jaime exclaimed, unable to believe this absurd idea. “Instead of getting closer to Cersei you’re asking me to drive to the other end of the country--”

“For fuck’s sake, let me finish,” his friend irritably intervened, and when Jaime sat back to listen to him, he unveiled the rest of his crazy idea with the air of a genius. “The only solution for you is to marry Cersei by hook or crook. Even if you do manage to get to Dorne and take up this so-called new identity you’re dreaming of, no church nor any court would entertain you. You’re too famous in this part of the country and your father’s too influential. By now, I’m sure he has the whole of the south in his pockets.”

“How is Winterfell going to make things easier?”

“Your father’s hands are long, but not so long as to extend all the way up there,” Bronn said, and slowly, the clouds began to shift, the picture becoming clearer with every passing second. “The Northerners are simple people, far less exposed to your kind of publicity and gossip, and most of it being small towns minding their business, a decent little disguise like this new hair colour and a pair of coloured contact lenses will help preserve your identity long enough for Cersei to join you there.”

“And then I can marry her there.” Jaime could foresee the end of it, the idea now sounding far less ridiculous than before.

“And come out to the press after that,” Bronn laid out the next step. “Announce you’re married. The Tyrells, then, will have no choice but to back out of the engagement which frees you from the obligation.”

“And dad will have no choice but to accept my decision,” Jaime chipped in, infused with a sudden burst of energy and raring to go. “He might be a stubborn dictator, willing to leave no stone unturned to get what he wants, but he is quite particular about his social image. A messy divorce and the negative publicity associated with it is something he’d totally want to avoid.”

Bronn grinned, satisfied. “What are you waiting for then? If you--”

“I can’t go with you to Winterfell.” Brienne had spoken for the first time since she’d suggested Bronn take her place and see him through to Dorne. “That’s miles away. It’ll take days, weeks, even, for me to return--”

“Have you ever been to Winterfell?” Jaime asked, hoping he could tempt her into this journey.

“No, but I--”

“It’s not great, but not a bad place to visit either,” he said, downplaying his real opinion, recalling the last time he’d been there and how he had hated the weather, more so, the icy attitude of the people there and the way they treated Southerners like him.

She didn’t seem to buy his half-hearted endorsement. “I doubt. The winter there’s a punishment.”

“Ah, but it’s summer now,” Bronn jumped up to convince her. “The weather should be nice and pleasant, a welcome change from this sweltering heat and pollution.”

Brienne was lost in her hesitation, a cloud of confusion layering her blue eyes.

“Think of it as a paid vacation,” Jaime tried to entice her into the pros of it. “A vast wealth of experiences you can pour into your writing.”

“Why can’t Bronn accompany you?” she suggested again. “Why me?”

“Because it’s a popular honeymoon destination at this time of the year,” Bronn quipped, wearing a crooked, naughty smile. “And you’d pass off for his wife far better than I would--”

“Shut up, Bronn.” The one thing Jaime wanted to avoid was to piss her off. “I’m a decent man, Brienne, and the last thing I’d ask of a lady like you is to oblige me with something you’re uncomfortable with.”

“You need someone to stick close to your dad and monitor his moves, to get Cersei to you when the time is right and help you behind the scenes,” Bronn justified his decision to stay away from action. 

The two of them looked at Brienne, and when she still appeared to be reluctant to make up her mind, Jaime thought it best to let her go. He didn’t want to be too pushy if she wasn’t up to it. “Fine, Brienne, if you still feel you don’t want to get involved, I won’t ask you again,” he said, getting up to bid this reserved, yet interesting woman, goodbye. “Thank you for saving my life.” Deciding to go a step further to express his thanks for all that she had done, he offered, “As soon as I sort out this mess, I’ll put in a word to those Dornish publishers--”

“Fine,” she stopped him, taking him by pleasant surprise. “I’ll do it.”

“Are you sure?”

She nodded.

“Then I’d be indebted to you,” Jaime admitted, in all earnestness. “I’ll do everything I can to pull up your career. I promise.”

She gave him a thin guarded smile, but said nothing more.

“Here’s your fake driving licence.” Bronn handed it to him. 

_James Martell,_ it said, bearing his latest photo. Long-ish brown locks, brown eyes and an attire traditional to the men residing in the desert town. While it wasn’t perfect and didn’t drastically alter his appearance, it wouldn’t give him away in an instant either. “Martell, huh,” he remarked, wondering what he’d say if he ran into someone from the famous Dornish family. “Do they have a James in their family tree?”

“Not to my knowledge,” Bronn replied, then added with a warning look, “This is to be used only in case of extreme emergency. As far as possible, her ID should do.”

“And our vehicle--”

“I’ve got that covered as well.” Bronn handed him a stapled bunch of papers. “Booked in the name of Ms. Tarth for two weeks. Today being the weekend, traffic’s bound to be lesser,” he pointed out, perusing the map again. “If you leave by tea time, you’ll be able to make it to Harrenhal by sunset.” 

+++++

“Well, here we are,” he couldn’t help cheering, elated when they’d crossed the city limits. 

Free from his week-long confinement, Jaime couldn’t beat down his rising spirits. He’d almost forgotten what being out in the open felt like. The cool evening breeze in his face and no strings to tether him someplace, this was a feeling he wanted to soak in and savour. But his companion didn’t seem to share his enthusiasm. Eyes on the road and mind totally focussed in her driving, she was a picture of grim determination.

Craving for some good company, he went on to ease her into speaking out. “Are you always this serious, wench?”

“ _Wench?_ ” She gave him a sharp side-eye. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

He chuckled. “Just a nickname that crossed my mind. Thought it suited you.”

“I don’t like it,” she snapped, stepping hard on the accelerator and speeding up.

Jaime burst out laughing. “Oh, loosen up, Ms. Tarth. We’re going to have to spend the next few days with none but each other for company. So why don’t we get to know each other and--”

“I know whatever I need to know about you, Mr. Lannister.” While she didn’t exactly sound rude, her intention to keep him at an arm’s length came out loud and clear in every word she spoke and her reticent body-language. 

And that, to Jaime’s utter surprise, began to suffocate him. “But I know nothing about you,” he pressed, wishing she’d tell him more, “except that you’re an author.”

“That’s all you need to know.”

The door shut on his face, he turned to his window, deeming it safe to steer clear of conversation for a while. Watching the vast expanses of endless fields go by, he drifted into thoughts of Cersei, of how his life would change for the better once she joined him. A beauty in every sense of the term, she was a far contrast to the woman beside him, slim and delicate and lady-like, every hot-blooded man’s dream.

“I wish I had a picture of her,” he mused, staring glumly at the new phone they’d bought for him.

“You’re going to be with her in a few days,” Brienne irritably muttered. “Why this impatience--”

“Have you ever been in love, wench?” He tossed it at her out of nowhere, meeting her vivid blue eyes in the rearview mirror.

Her mouth fell slightly open and something shifted in those deep oceans, battling his gaze. “I don’t discuss my personal matters, Mr. Lannister.”

“It’s Jaime,” he pointed out, tired of her formality and the compulsion to keep a distance. Intrigued to know more about this enigmatic woman and the life she was so keen on keeping under wraps, he voiced his conclusion, hoping she might open up when prompted. “And from the faraway look in your eyes, it’s quite obvious you _have_ been in love.”

Blinking hard, she turned her attention back to the road, choosing not to answer him, but Jaime’s interest was piqued by her wordless response that spoke volumes. 

What would it take to become her friend? To get her to trust him? Off and on, he found himself straying to catch a glimpse of her eyes. _Pretty,_ he had to admit, and _enchanting enough to draw any man in like a magnet._ Who did those lovely eyes dream of every night? And where the hell was the man in her life?

“Do you have a boyfriend?” he tried again, unable to contain his curiosity. “Or are you still single--”

Angry eyes turned to him, warning him not to delve too much into her intimate matters. “If you think pretending to be my husband gives you the right to pry into such things--”

“I wasn't trying to pry,” he quickly stepped back, not wanting to antagonize her. “I won’t ask again if you aren’t comfortable.”

Mollified, she went back to her driving. 

A hundred questions crossed his mind, but Jaime saw it fit to keep shut, at least until he’d built a rapport with her. Her books, sales disasters though they had been, had appealed to him like none other. A certain charm, he found in them, and innocence, thought that wasn’t restricted only to her writing.

What would it take to break the ice?

“We’ve reached,” she announced after a while, glancing at the GPS on her phone. “The hotel’s down that lane on the right.”

The _hotel,_ if it could be called one, was one of the most pathetic Jaime had ever come across. An ancient building, it looked like it might disintegrate any moment. “If this is what Bronn’s every recommendation is going to be like, I’d rather use my discretion,” he grumbled as they made their way to the reception, his hood pulled down to conceal most of his face.

“A place like this would attract far lesser attention than a five-star accommodation,” Brienne pointed out under her breath. “But since you’re not used to less than top-notch comforts, I guess you’re going to have a bit of a trouble, Mr. Lannister.”

“Don’t call me Mr. Lannister,” he hissed when they approached the receptionist. “Not in front of her, at least. I’m supposed to be your darling husband.”

Biting back her irritation, Brienne turned, instead, to the girl at the counter. “Brienne Tarth,” she introduced herself, producing her driver’s licence. “I have a booking.”

To talk too much in front of a stranger would be inviting trouble, so Jaime let his _wife_ do the talking, lurking in the background and taking in the dingy surroundings, wondering if he’d be able to sleep even a wink in this awful place.

When they took the rickety lift to the second floor, he had an unbearable urge to flee, to look for someplace better to spend the night.

“Perfect,” he remarked dryly, as soon as their luggage had been dropped off and they had the room to themselves. “What a lovely honeymoon suite!”

Brienne’s face fell as she walked in to inspect the room. “There’s only one bed.”

Jaime followed her. “What else did you expect?” He tossed his bag onto the bed and it shook under the impact. “We’re supposed to share a room. And a bed.” He sat down with a thump, the mattress sinking under his weight. “But this one’s not strong enough to handle the stress.”

The sharp eyes were back to piercing his. “What stress?”

“Fucking. If we make love on this damn old thing tonight, it’ll collapse under the strain--” 

One look at her flushed face and shocked wide eyes, and he fell silent, realizing what he had just said. “Not _we_. I didn’t mean _us_ literally,” he mumbled, his ears heating up as he scrambled around for some desperate damage control. “That’s what newly-weds generally do on their honeymoon, so it was the first thing that came to my mind--”

“I’d better sleep on the chair,” she cut him short, without even looking at him. Rummaging through her night-bag, she pulled out a pair of pajamas. “So you’re welcome to have this bed to yourself.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night goes on (no, "that" doesn't happen yet), and Jaime uncovers something about his travel companion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay. But, better late than never, isn't it? :)  
> Here's the next chapter and I hope you like it.
> 
> Also, warning : References to past trauma.

“Would you mind looking the other way if it isn’t too much trouble?” she barked, bundling up her night clothes and walking across to the other side of the bed. Her words were a request, but her eyes, blazing laser beams, itching to cut through him. “I need to change and get to bed. I’m tired.”

Jaime did as told and took to his side of the bed, seeing sense in cutting the conversation loose. If he wished to see Cersei again, he had to keep a check on his tongue. He had to try not to offend Brienne. Having nothing else to do, he dug through his bag and pulled out a pair of shorts for the night.

About two minutes later, an unnecessarily harsh, “I’m done,” told him he was free to look, but there was no room for further dialogue. Pretending he wasn’t even there in the room, she hurried away to the chair she’d nominated to be her bed for the night and settled down in it, eyes shut, head turned away from him, indicating she was done for the day, that she had withdrawn into a private shell, keeping all else, but herself, out, particularly him.

“You’re going to end up with aching limbs by morning,” he warned, hoping she might shed away her stubborn armour and succumb to the comfort (though it wasn’t all that comfortable) of the bed. “This bed isn’t bad, you know--”

“Not interested,” she snubbed his invitation, then tilted her head to the other side so he couldn’t see her face.

Miffed with her bitterness, he didn’t challenge her claim this time. _Fine. You do you._ Stripping away, he slipped into the shorts he’d picked, then switched off the lights and retired to bed. 

Sleep usually had an annoying tendency to strike when it was least welcome, when he was busy with work or occupied with something else that demanded his attention. But when there was nothing else to do but lie around tossing and turning and waiting, it, most of the time, resorted to ditching him. Tonight appeared to be another such instance with a roomful of dark quiet, eyes wide open and brain on full-alert, his only company. And with such a silence came a huge flurry of thoughts - thoughts that usually had no room when he was busy or had company. 

And, to his utter discomfort, it wasn’t Cersei, tonight, who dominated his mind.

His eyes, along with his mind, drifted, off and on to the woman curled up across the room, fast asleep, her soft snores and his breathing the only sounds around. When he’d told her that he was a patron of her writing, he wasn’t lying. And he wasn’t bragging when he promised her he’d give her a break. Oberyn Martell, the head of one of the leading publication houses, was a friend. And he’d definitely be more than happy to accommodate a talented, albeit, fairly unknown author and turn her into a household name. The more Jaime let her linger in his mind, the more certain, he was, there was more to her than she chose to reveal. More layers beneath, concealing a mystery, a story, she strived hard to keep close to her chest, an iron curtain she’d put up around her. Not one to wear her heart or her intentions on her sleeve, Brienne Tarth would go to any lengths to keep him at the gate.

And Jaime found himself nursing an inexplicable urge to do the exact opposite. 

Cersei was his soulmate, the love of his life, and while he was ready to wholeheartedly accept her for who she was, there were shades of her he didn’t understand, or rather, didn’t agree with. Her thirst for power, the uncontrollable drive to climb up the corporate ladder, no matter what it took to make it there, her lack of contentment with what she had--with what _they_ had, had left him perturbed more than once. Every time they fought over this, he’d let her have the last word, for a continuous insistence of his vocal disagreement only ended up triggering her further, a fully-blown explosive argument, the usual end-state.

But with Brienne… 

He shifted sides with a sigh, those astonishing eyes returning to his mind, a bright light in this darkness, the innocence in them, telling him she was a story untold, a book waiting to be opened. And he wanted to devour it from cover to cover, to find out all he could about her -- her childhood, her career, her lovelife--

She made a little sound, distracting him from his reverie, then stretched in her sleep, then drifted back into her slumber in the same uncomfortable posture, her long legs folded into whatever meagre space that was available, her knees pressed to her chin. It was a stark contrast to the comfort he was lolling in, and Jaime got up.

Guilt-ridden, he tiptoed across to her.

He hovered over her for a few seconds, looking down at the peaceful face, lost in a world no outsider could enter, deliberating whether he should displace her or not. Touching her would run the risk of waking her, and if that happened, he ran the risk of ending up an unfortunate audience to another lecture he could do without. But leaving her like this, shrivelled up and cramping wasn’t something he could spend the rest of the night brooding about.

_To hell with it._

Brushing aside his hesitation, he carefully picked her up in his arms. She stirred, a low moan, slipping past her lips, but thankfully, she sank back into her stupor, undisturbed, liked he hadn’t lain a finger on her. Surprisingly, she was lighter than he’d expected, and far more womanly and a little bit vulnerable as against the toughness she exuded when conscious. Carrying her to the bed, he lay her down and pulled the covers to her chin. 

Satisfied, he returned to his half and resumed staring at the ceiling. 

Until he drifted off…

_Until the dingy room around him morphed into the snow-capped terrain of Winterfell. On one side was the woman he loved, the one he’d do anything to get to, and on the other was the one responsible for this reunion._

_“So this is it,” the wench whispered, slipping away from his handshake, extricating her fingers from his. “This is where we part ways.”_

_“Stay here for a while,” he whispered back, unwilling to let her go despite his destination being someone else. “You don’t have to leave right away.”_

_“Jaime, hurry up,” Cersei’s impatient voice floated across, cutting harshly through the farewell he wanted to prolong. “If you’re done--”_

_“Just gimme a minute, darling,” he called back, eyes, deeply lodged in Brienne’s, for if he looked away, he feared she might disappear, that he might never get an opportunity to see her again._

_She started to walk away, but he stopped her, not quite ready to see the last of her. “Brienne wait--” There was something he needed to say, a lot more he wanted to hear. Every step she took felt like something was being taken away from him, like a train he would miss if he didn’t act soon._

_“Goodbye, Jaime,” she said softly, then turned away, hiding her pretty eyes from her._

_“Brienne, hang on,” he desperately called out. “There’s something I need to tell you--”_

“Nooooo!”

Soft moans filled his ears, and Jaime woke up, jolted, both, from the intensity of his dream as well as the writhing and whimpering woman beside him.

“Leave me alone,” Brienne mumbled, rolling her head from side to side. “You can’t hurt me and get away from me.”

He touched her arm. “Hey--”

“Get away from me,” she cried, shoving off his hand, her chilling words penetrating him. What the fuck was she going through?

“Brienne,” he called again, and when she didn’t respond, he jerked her awake, not too gently, but not with too much force either.

When she sat up, breaking free of her ordeal, he heaved a sigh of relief and switched on the bedside light. “Nightmare, huh?” he asked, his hand tentatively reaching out to her arm again to comfort her.

She was panting, her forehead covered in beads of sweat, her chin, wobbling violently.

“It’s over,” he said soothingly, wondering what could’ve triggered this. Dreams, while not often, sometimes had a connection to one’s past, some trauma, something deeply rooted in the subconscious, not entirely an unlikely cause for such experiences. She said nothing, her laboured breathing telling him she needed some time to get over it. When she was shaking like crazy, he couldn’t just play a silent spectator any longer. Wrapping an arm around her, he pulled her close, hoping to ease her back to reality, to show her that she wasn’t alone. “Relax,” he whispered, and she sank into his touch, her head dropping to his shoulder, thankful for the support.

Silence again, it was, when her breathing eased out into its usual rhythm, when she stayed like that, seeking shelter in his arms, her prickly self smoothing out into a woman unseen before. Jaime felt himself wander back into his dream, of what he had seen and felt. 

_It was just a dream. It meant nothing. My life is meant to be with Cersei. It is she I’m in love with, my life intertwined with hers._

Shaking it off, he asked, “What was it?” 

Brienne pulled away, wiping her damp forehead with her sleeve, her cheeks, flushed, her eyes, everywhere, but on him. “I’m fine, thank you,” she mumbled, withdrawing to the edge of her half. “And I’m sorry to have bothered you--”

“It wasn’t a bother,” he quickly corrected her, the need to protect and soothe her, surfacing above all else within him. “If you want to talk about it--”

“No.” So blunt, she sounded, and so spontaneous, as if she were pushing him away for stepping on her feet. “I’d rather not talk about it.”

“Apologies for asking,” he replied, a tad deflated. “Now why don’t you try going back to sleep--”

“How did I get here?” With a frown, she looked around, first at the empty chair, then at herself and then at him, the colour on her cheeks deepening when her eyes strayed to his bare chest.

“You looked uncomfortable,” he explained, “so I brought you here--”

“How?”

“I carried you--”

“You touched me when I was asleep? When I wasn't aware about it?” The fear and panic in her eyes gave way to sparks of anger.

“Of course.” What was she driving at? “How else--”

“Stay away from me, please,” she cut him, the usual crispness returning to her tone. “We have an agreement, an unsigned contract, and I’d rather we be professional about it.”

Stung, and wondering what he had possibly done to upset her, Jaime retreated to his side again. Shutting his eyes, he made a mental note never to tread on her personal side or offer unsolicited help again.

+++++ 

When morning came they went about their business in silence. Jaime was careful not to talk more than necessary. There were boundaries she’d decided to draw, and he might as well respect it, his curiosity to find out more about her be damned. He did glance at her from time to time when she wasn’t looking, the weary face and puffy eyes telling him she wasn’t yet over whatever she had been through. It must have been beyond nasty. That he was sure of, from the way she was twitching and moaning.

This woman had a past she wanted to keep concealed within herself, and Jaime, despite his resolution to keep his questions to himself, found himself dwelling on it every damn second.

Taking care not to cross paths, they bathed and dressed, and at around 9 a.m, they headed down to the restaurant for breakfast. The heavy silence, her indifference, the tension, thick and refusing to budge were all driving him nuts, making them come across as a pair of grumpy school kids pushed together for a class assignment instead of the loving married couple they were supposed to play. In a way, of course, she was right. It was none of his business. And if he were to give it a thought from her perspective, why would she bother to reveal her secrets to a man who had bribed her for achieving his selfish means. A rich millionaire with the sole aim of wedding the woman of his dreams, he was a stark contrast to someone struggling for work, to make her presence felt in this big bad world.

“Is that Roose Bolton?”

Drawn away from the web of his thoughts, Jaime looked at her, instead of the direction she was gesturing at. This was the first proper sentence she had spoken since the curt warning she had issued last night, if, of course, he didn’t count the monosyllabic answers to the questions he’d deemed utterly important and unavoidable. 

“How do you know him, wench?”

Her brows met in a frown, eyes, narrowing into a distant gaze. “He was under the scanner for a weapons racket ten years back.”

He barely registered her words, for something else suddenly hit him, a chilling implication this could have on him, and he sprang to his feet. “We need to get out of here.”

“Why--”

“Now,” he insisted, gritting his teeth, and when she still refused to relent, he got up and took her arm. “Out, first. I’ll explain later.”

Ensuring they didn’t stray anywhere near their fellow-guest’s line of vision, he led her out of the dining hall and back up to their room. “He’s dad’s friend and business associate,” he explained, once they were safe behind the shut door of their privacy. “His right hand, actually.” Plonking himself on the bed, Jaime rubbed his forehead, wary about the shady company his father kept. But then, Tywin Lannister was no less than any of them, several steps ahead, in fact, yet, smart enough to conceal the not-so-bright goings on in his empire, to keep them wrapped so that no prying eyes could wander onto them. 

“I was part of the team working on that story back then.” A shadow crossed her face, and she was miles away, her eyes, deep into her memories. “I ran into his gang. Locke--”

“--yes, that’s one of his chief thugs,” Jaime supplied, his interest in her spiking, sprouting a new dimension, altogether. “How do you know him?”

“I was a journalist before I got to writing novels,” she said shortly, and from her tone he could gather that it had not gone well. “My team was assigned to--” She dropped away abruptly, then set about gathering her things and packing them away. “Don’t we need to make a move if we want to cover a good distance today?”

He got up, pensive, pondering their next move. While they had slipped away before Bolton could notice, there was still a possibility he could’ve spotted them. He might even be aware that they were lodging there, or worse still, he could’ve been planted there by his father to spy on them and act when the moment was right. And if, unfortunately, any of his dark hunches turned out right, all their efforts would bite the dust. It was just a matter of hours, of minutes, maybe, if they were unlucky.

“We need to take a detour,” he voiced the plan cooking in his brain. “We can’t have him send men to tail us, and a decoy destination is the only way out.” His mind was racing, searching for someplace suitable they could hole up in to buy some time. “Riverrun--”

“I’m not going there,” Brienne burst out, her hands on her hips. “There’s only a few days I can spend with you, Mr. Lannister--”

“ _Jaime,_ ” he irritably corrected. “And there’s no other way out of this unexpected impediment, wench.” He glared at her. What could possibly put her off this much? “I’m more in a hurry than you are, and eager to get to the finishing line of this painful trip and into the arms of the woman I love. So I’m absolutely not interested in spending a minute more with you than necessary.”

She glared back, but then, mellowed down, the crease-lines on her face dissolving into peaceful smoothness as she reluctantly agreed, “Fine, then. Let’s get going.”

When they hit the road again, Jaime took to alternating between staring into the distance and fiddling away on his phone, leaving the wench to drive quietly. If she decided to stay aloof for the rest of their trip, so be it. He could easily pass his time with memories of Cersei and painting pretty mental pictures of their future-to-be.

But the problem, he grew to conclude with the passing minutes, was that his mind seemed to have a mind of its own. Aligning to his intentions to drag himself away from reality and daydream about his girlfriend was not something it was inclined towards, and he found himself confronting the same questions and his intrigue about her dark past.

“I’m sorry.”

Her words hit him like a bolt of lightning, so sudden and unexpected that he wanted to ascertain he’d heard her right. “I beg your pardon?”

“I’m sorry,” she repeated, looking sheepish when she glanced at him in the rear-view mirror. “You were trying to help last night and I was being unreasonably prickly--”

“It’s okay.” He couldn’t help computing the reason for this change of mind. “You were disturbed and distressed--”

“Locke and his men,” she dully intervened, her face taking on a vacant, deadened expression. “I was involved in a sting operation then, assigned to expose their illegal dealings.”

“I never knew you were a journalist.” Despite the friction between them, he was beginning to admire the woman more and more with every passing minute he spent with her. “That assignment must have been--”

“--terrible.” She sounded haunted, her eyes, straight ahead, unblinking, the light gone out of them. 

“Look,” Jaime began uncomfortably, not at all wishing to get her all worked up, “you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t feel like--”

“I was captured and held hostage.” Pulling over to the side of the road, she sat back and took a deep breath, then turned to him. “They tortured me in ways--”

“Did--” he stopped her, his stomach churning “--did they--”

“No, they didn’t rape me,” she went on, the pain on her face making him clench his fists, filling his mind with ways in which he’d want to get back at them for assaulting a woman. “But they did make sure I needed a long time to recover from the hell they’d inflicted on me.”

“I’m sorry.” He didn’t know what else to say. He could have enveloped her in a bear hug and held her close to his chest, but knowing the woman and her reservations, he wasn’t sure the friendly gesture would go down well with her.

“I was rescued before things could get to the extreme,” she continued in the same vein. Her eyes bore no plea for sympathy, no request for soothing words, just the need to get the weight off her chest. “But then, after that, I was in therapy for a while. I had to quit my job, steer clear of journalism and resort to freelancing and writing fiction, instead.”

“But Locke--”

She answered with a dry laugh. “He was behind bars after that. But for only a handful of years. Or was it fewer than that?” Disgust and resentment clouded those beautiful eyes. “All it takes is a powerful name and a fat load of cash to get them out, doesn’t it?”

Jaime fumed in agreement, rage spreading across his chest when he pictured what she might have gone through. How low did one have to stoop if they had to treat a woman like this? It was beyond disgusting and deplorable. Sexual assaulters, in his opinion, deserved no less punishment than castration, for stripping them off the very thing they tried to show off was the best way to make them feel the pain they’d inflicted upon their victims.

“But I’m fine now.” She tried to sound normal, but something in that tone told him the remnants were still there.

“You weren’t, last night,” he carefully pointed out.

“It does come back from time to time, but I’m largely okay.” Blinking, at last, she let her eyes wander to her lap, then back onto his. “I probably overreacted and snapped at you for no reason at all. Fresh from the nightmare, when I learned that you carried me to the bed, that you touched me when I was asleep, I--” She paused, looked out of the window, then returned to speak to him. “Something broke within me, something inside sprung up in defense and I--”

“I’m not one of _them_ , Brienne.” He placed a hand on hers in tender reassurance, a little gesture telling her she could trust him, that he would keep her safe for as long as she was with him.

She didn’t jerk his hand away, nor did she flinch under his touch. “I know. And thank you for being there last night.” After ages of scowling and arguing, a smile, there was, on her face, and a shine of gratitude in those deeply inviting eyes. “I really appreciate it, Jaime.”

 _Jaime,_ not _Mr. Lannister._

Jaime returned her smile, looking forward to the rest of this trip and not just his destination.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected detour, an unexpected host to house them for the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluffy fluff after the somewhat heavy third chapter.

Brienne brought them to a screeching halt, wide blue eyes delving deep into his. “Your aunt?”

“Aunt Genna.” Jaime pulled out maps on his phone to switch on navigation to her address. “Haven’t been to her place for years, so I’m a bit rusty with the directions--”

“Your father’s sister, you said?”

“Yeah--”

“And you think she’s just going to keep our little adventure to herself?” She narrowed her eyes. “Does she know about you and Cersei?”

“Yeah.” He sighed, recalling the caustic lecture he’d had to bear with when he had broken the news to her. “Like dad, she doesn’t approve of--”

She thumped her fist to the wheel. “Then why the hell are we going there--”

“She doesn’t approve of dad either,” Jaime revealed, finding himself wanting to open up to her, to tell her more about his family, the complicated relationship he and his brother shared with their father. “They haven’t been on talking terms for years.”

Her brows furrowed, the wench continued to regard him with severity, telling him, although, not in as many words that his plan was a stupid mistake.

“Trust me, we’ll be safe.” As soon as they had left the hotel, he’d built up a contingency plan in his head. “We can stay at her place for a day, enough to shake off anyone tailing us, and be on our way to the Vale tomorrow--”

“The Vale--” She looked aghast. “That’s the opposite end of this diversion. I thought our destination was Winterfell--”

“It is--”

“Then why the hell are we taking an aimless tour around Westeros?”

“My father’s smarter than the smartest.” He smiled wryly. “By now he would’ve figured out Cersei is bound towards Winterfell. He would’ve stationed his eyes along that part of the Kingsroad--”

“--which still doesn’t explain your detour. If we spend a day or two at the Vale, your father’s spies are still going to be around--”

“A week--”

“A _week_?”

“By then, the heat of the search would’ve worn off.” Jaime opened an email and passed his phone to her. “Our reservations for the coveted honeymoon package at _The Eyrie_ , the most picturesque and romantic getaway to spend the first few days of a new marriage. Dad would never even think of looking for me there, particularly now, when it’s swarming with newlyweds. It’s the perfect hideout.” 

She looked horrified, as if he’d asked her to accompany him to the gallows.

“It won’t be that bad,” he tried to convince her, a tad hurt that she found the idea this revolting. “A good place to cool our heels until my father’s frenzy comes down and his men get a bit slack.”

She stared at the itinerary. “Why the Aunt Genna diversion then? We could’ve directly driven to the Vale.”

“Our booking’s for the day after tomorrow, in line with our schedule, had we checked out of Harrenhal tomorrow. Bolton’s sudden arrival has forced us to evict a day earlier.” He had tried advancing their reservation by a day, but the place being a popular honeymoon destination, they were full and unable to accomodate. “We have no place to stay for the night, not one trustworthy soul we can count on.”

“If we were really married, I would _never_ let you plan our honeymoon--” she shoved the phone back to him “--or any trip, for that matter.”

“Ahh, so you did give a thought to what being married to me would be like?” He suddenly found himself intrigued in her views about him, of what an honest and straightforward woman like her would make of a life with him. “You’re enjoying this journey--”

“Not at all.”

Her expression stiffening again, she curled up into a shell and restarted the vehicle. 

+++++

“How did you end up meeting my nephew, Ms. Tarth?”

“I was lying on the road, alone and wounded,” Jaime answered on her behalf, cutting a bite-sized portion of his meat and popping it into his mouth. “Brienne saved my life and--” he threw her a look of gratitude “--agreed to get me to Cersei.”

“I can’t believe what you see in that girl except beauty.” The old woman’s expression clouded with disapproval. “She’s using your affections, my dear boy,” she began her usual tirade, “she--”

“--is the one I love,” he countered, firmly, but politely. “The sooner you and dad and the rest of our _esteemed_ family accept that, the better it will be for all of us.”

Still frowning, his aunt went back to her food. “I’d rather you have met and fallen for someone else--” she was eyeing Brienne hopefully, who, out of embarrassment, had eyes only for her plate. “Someone far more down to earth,” she went on, smiling indulgently at the target of her admiration “--someone able enough to pull you up and bring you back to normal should you--”

“I’m going to ask Cersei to marry me as soon as I meet her.” Jaime wanted to stop her before her dreamy imagination could wander too far into dangerous territory. “So let’s just agree to politely disagree on our views about her.” This fresh bout of criticism and wishful thinking left a new thread of worry creeping into him and he wanted to nip it in the bud before it began to eat him out. “I came here trusting you, hoping you won’t tell dad--”

“I won’t.” Her face softened into a motherly tenderness. “I don’t approve of that Tyrell girl, as well,” she opined, her eyes twinkling. “My taste, in this regard is rather different--” again there was that fleeting glance in Brienne’s direction “--but you do you. Your choice is what ultimately matters, son.”

No more discussions on that matter, or any other, there were, thankfully, and once they’d finished their dinner, his aunt led them to a familiar room--

“My old bedroom!” Jaime’s eyes lit up as he looked around, taking in what had once been his, decades back. “My guitar--” he pulled it down from the shelf “--I can’t believe you’ve still kept this--”

“All in the hope that you might, one day, think of paying a visit.” There was a touch of longing in her eyes, and, Jaime realized, a pang of being neglected.

Jaime acknowledged her with a guilty nod and a hug. “I’m sorry, I should’ve kept in touch.”

“Never knew you played the guitar.” Brienne took the instrument from his hands and began pacing the room, examining it. “Never pictured you to be the type.” 

He walked over to her. “You don’t know many things about me, Brienne,” he whispered, audible only to her. “You don’t know my type. But as you spend time with me--” he met her eyes “--I'm hoping you’ll know me better--”

“Are you a guitarist too, Brienne?”

They sprang apart to make way when his aunt approached them. “I can manage a bit.”

“Be my guest--” Jaime gestured to a chair “--we’d love to have you play something for us, though I'm not quite sure of the condition it is in.”

Brienne sat down and began testing the instrument, tentative fingers plucking a string. “Out of tune--” she tugged at another note “but still good.” Fishing out her phone, she opened a tuning app and set to work. A dab hand, Jaime could make out, from the way she brought it to condition, treating it with the love and care only a trained artist could.

Drink in hand, Jenna settled down on the sofa, blatant admiration in her eyes and a side-glance at Jaime as if urging him to reconsider his choice. “It’s been a while since I’ve heard that in action.”

And Brienne obliged them with a popular tune, a light, fluffy romantic number that led Jaime along the road to dreamland, his mind painting a rosy picture of the life to come, a life full of love and bliss with him and--

_No!_

Shaking himself out of it, he sat up, jolted by the wench’s unexpected intrusion into the world he’d imagined with him and Cersei. But as she kept playing, he found himself welcoming this intervention, drawn deeper into the sweet tune, this new vision, this new twist, or perhaps, a just a complicated trick his tired mind was playing on him. Cersei, he loved, and she was the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with--

“That was absolutely marvellous, Brienne,” his aunt cheered, gushing with warmth and adoration. “So good!”

“You flatter me, Ms. Lannister,” Brienne bashfully replied, eyes on the strings, her fingertips kissing them as a pleasing blush started creeping up her neck. “I’m no expert--”

“You were brilliant.” Jaime got up to help her wind up and put the guitar away. “Never knew you played so well.” With a slight smile, he added, “Never thought you to be the type.” 

“You don’t know many things about me,” she replied when they followed Jenna out of there and towards their lodgings for the night. “You don’t know my type, Jaime, my likes and dislikes. Just because I don’t look like your regular women, it doesn’t mean--”

“I never commented on your looks,” he quickly corrected her. “And I could get to know you, you know--” his breathing quickened, his mind racing ahead “--as we spend more time together on this trip. I’d love to hear about your likes and dislikes.”

A couple of blinks, and then came the closed look on her face again. “That’s not going to happen. You have Cersei waiting for you, whereas I--”

“We can still be friends.” Very few in an inner circle, he could boast of, and one like her, he wouldn’t surely want to give up. “Keep in touch, surely--”

“We’ll see about that.” Her usual reluctance to open the gates told Jaime this was the end of the subject.

Aunt Jenna showed them each to their rooms, and after a quick goodnight, they retired to bed. When he sank into the comfort of his bed, an odd feeling of having room all to himself and a mind full of thoughts barging into his solitude wiped out all his hopes of a well-rested night.

Every time he tried to look forward to his joyful reunion with his lover and soon-to-be wife, images of Brienne took over, ousting out the previous vision. Every time he brought himself to focus on Cersei’s pretty face, blue eyes, bright and innocent, crept, without warning, into his head. Every time he recalled Cersei’s sweet singing voice, Brienne and her guitar stood out above it, and the way she’d managed to capture his unduly critical Aunt Genna’s heart with her sincere performance.

+++++

When he woke up the next morning, it was well past 8, and after quickly going about his morning routine, he got dressed and joined his aunt at the kitchen. 

But Brienne was missing.

“She was up an hour earlier,” said his aunt, reading his mind as she handed him a cup of tea. “Said she had some packing stuff to attend to.”

Jaime took in her explanation with a sip of hot tea and a fresh flurry of thoughts flooding his mind. She had not spoken to him properly after he’d announced their detour and the onward plan to the honeymoon resort. Was she still pissed off with him? Worried she might chicken out or persuade him to change the plan, he had refrained from breaking it to her earlier, but would it have been better if he had come clean with it instead of telling her at the last minute?

“This girl, Brienne--”

The conspiratorial tone snapping him out of his reverie, Jaime put down his cup with a resigned sigh, fully aware and bracing himself for what was to come.

“Why not her, Jaime?” She looked at him as if it were as easy as choosing clothes at a boutique. “She--”

“--has a life of her own.” And for some reason, the idea of parting with her in a few days began to bother him. “Her future is in Dorne, whereas I have Cersei--”

“Cersei’s not your type, boy,” his aunt snapped, “whereas this girl--”

“She’s sweet, caring, brutally honest,” he began counting, replaying each moment he’d spent with her since the fateful night she had given him refuge. “Fiercely hard-working and ambitious, principled, innocent, an amazing guitarist with a heart of gold--” he paused at the recollection of last night when she was woken up by her nightmare “--that is also an ocean full of secrets. She can be prickly, at times--” he made a face “--and doesn’t open up that easily though she trusts me--”

“I was just going to stick to _she’s_ _nice_.” His aunt had him trapped in her all-perceiving shrewd gaze, a strange mix of amusement and approval in her tone. “But since you happened to have so perfectly summarised her, I’ll gladly take your word for all that you just listed.”

Jaime mentally kicked himself for spilling out too much, for giving his aunt too much to work her assumptions on and present them as conclusions. “Because she’s nice, or more than that, doesn’t mean I want to spend the rest of my life with her,” he said, in an attempt to curtail the damage. “I--”

“Because you happened to go all the way to appreciate the good in her and understand her flaws--” his aunt narrowed her eyes “--you _like_ her, Jaime, or maybe, even more--”

“She’s just a friend.” 

But did she think of him as one, too? Even if she did, they couldn’t ever get to any more than that. He was not her type. Even if he did happen to fall for her, she’d balk at the idea of going out with someone like him, let alone explore the prospect of spending a lifetime together. 

Besides, he had Cersei.

“Is that it?” Genna’s lips met in a smile. “You crave Cersei, but somehow, I can sense something else brewing here, a few stray sparks, maybe--” 

“It’s _nothing_ else,” he quickly ascertained. “You’re imagining things.”

The wise old pair of eyes continued to study him, confident and hell-bent on proving him wrong. “We’ll see that on your next visit, dear.”

+++++

“You’ve been quiet for a while, wench.”

They had been driving in silence for more about an hour, and Jaime had been observing her, torn between the desperation to break out of the uneasiness his aunt had planted in him and a mild apprehension towards her reaction if he was to bring up the subject of their awkward destination.

“I’m not a very chatty person.”

“In spite of that, you got along just fine with my difficult aunt,” he observed, fully convinced that she was irritated with him. “Listen--I’m sorry I didn’t bring up the resort plan earlier--”

She flung him a stinging gaze in the mirror. “You could’ve told me. I would’ve mentally prepared myself--”

“My fault,” he wholeheartedly agreed, eager to sort this out and get things between them back to normal. “It won’t happen again, alright?”

After what felt like the longest spell of silence he’d been through, she nodded, her eyes thawing. “What is it with this place we’re going to?”

“Well--” he brought up the programme on his phone “--we’re eligible for a three-day complimentary couples’ workshop where we--”

She swerved, hitting the brakes to avoid a pedestrian. “What?”

“Romantic stuff,” he noted, perusing through the agenda. “Fluffy things couples engage in--”

“We’re not a real couple but--”

“I know.” He ran his fingers through his hair. She seemed ill at ease with the sound of it, the idea of engaging in what you’d do with your significant other, unnerving. And logically so. “But what are we supposed to do?” With the less luxurious hotels by virtue of their prime location conspicuously presenting themselves to his father’s scrutiny, and the ones that were of the premium type, usually frequented by people known to him, he could see no way out save for this one. “Stay out without mingling? Because that’ll only raise doubts--”

“But I can’t--” her face was the colour of the blossoming twilight “--can’t get into such stuff with you.”

“And I won’t push you if it gets too awkward.” He forced a smile to mask his disappointment. “If you don’t feel like it.”

She resumed normal speed, and again, neither of them spoke, a shadow of silence spreading over them. 

And after what felt like ages, she met his gaze in the mirror. “Fine, I’ll do it.” She peered into his phone, her eyes widening as she speed-read the agenda. “But it says here there’s a party, a dance--”

“--which you can’t participate in wearing the clothes you’ve packed,” he realized, frowning. “We need to shop. While I can do with the suit I have--”

“You brought a suit with you?”

“Hmm--” he recalled the odd demand he’d made of Bronn and the reaction he'd had to suffer in return “--Bronn had it smuggled out of the house and delivered it to me.”

Round-eyed, she was staring at him. “Why did you think you’d need a suit?”

“Because--” he’d been dreaming of a wedding at the end of all this “--I figured it might come in handy.” He’d never imagined he might have _other_ uses for this. “And you need an evening dress--”

“Oh no no--” she vehemently shook her head “--I’m not forcing myself into one of those--”

“We don’t have a choice, Brienne.”

So with great reluctance she drove them to the first mall they encountered. And then on, it was an ordeal Jaime had underestimated before stepping into it. All she did was skim through store after store, finding some pretext or the other to get out of each within a maximum of five minutes. It was either, _‘this will look too tight on me,”_ or _‘the slit is too long,’_ or _‘the neckline is too plunging,”_ or some other variant of either of these, and after a couple of hours, the frustration was beginning to bog him down.

“That’s it,” he announced, tired and exasperated as they trudged along to yet another brand. “We’re walking out of this place with a dress.” Taking matters into his hands, he scanned the long lines of gowns, searching, looking for one that would--

“Aha!” Grabbing her arm he led her along to the piece that had arrested his attention. “This one--” It was a lovely soft blue, the colour of her eyes, one, he was sure, would bring out the hidden _something_ in her. 

“It’s--”

“--perfect.” Armed with the dress, he dragged her to the trial room, which, fortunately, was vacant. “Try it on.”

With the looks of one condemned to a severe punishment, she went in, leaving Jaime lurking outside, waiting, picturing the down on her. While not one blessed with a pretty face, her eyes were a striking feature, and this would draw the onlooker’s attention to them, along with, of course, beautifully complementing her rosy cheeks -- on the rare occasions she happened to blush, that is. It was--

“Jaime?”

Eager to see what she looked like in it, he rushed over. “Yeah?”

“I need some help with this,” she called out from the other side of the door. “Can you send in one of those girls?”

“On it.”

While this section of the store was fairly empty, he craned his neck to check, but could find none of the shop assistants anywhere in the vicinity. Where were they when you needed them?

“Jaime?”

“There’s no one around, wench.” He was about to go seek help in the other sections when the door opened, just a little.

“Why don’t you come in here for a second?”

“Me?” he asked, wanting to make doubly sure, for some reason.

A few seconds of silence followed, leading to a helpless, “Yeah.”

She stepped aside to let him in. “I need a little help with this--” shutting the door, she turned around to reveal a flawless back, the zip, half-way up “--can you just--”

But all Jaime could do was gape. Ogle. Stare wistfully like he’d never seen a woman before. It was perfect - everything from the shade of the blue to the length of the slits to the way the flowing fabric hugged her shapely hips and wrapped around her alluring--

“Jaime?”

He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think straight, the cramped space of the room pushing him closer to her than he’d expected, his senses elevated to an agonizing maximum when she shifted to adjust herself, her well-toned arse brushing against his crotch, heightening his-- 

“Jaime!”

“Y--yeah--” he stammered, cursing himself for staring like a besotted idiot. “Yeah, of course.”

Aligning the straps on her shoulders, he pulled the zip shut as slowly as he could, captivated by the sight of her skin vanishing beneath the sexy dress, his fingers involuntarily straying past their boundaries, a gentle shiver running down them when they kissed her blemish-less back.

When he was done, she turned to him again. “What do you think?”

“I think it’s spectacular,” he gasped, barely able to get the words out, the fit, her curves, the shape of her breasts distracting him with a twitch here and a throb there. _I think you’re spectacular._ There it was, the faint hue of pink on her cheeks, the sight that left his heart beating like crazy. “Let’s go with this one.”

With a nod, she spun around to face the mirror again, looking at him--at them--in the reflection before she whispered, “Help me out of this.”

And when he did as told, Jaime was invaded with visions of obliging her night after night, of peeling away her clothes to uncover what lay within, of going a step further--many steps further--his imagination running riot, stirring an alarming _something_ deep down within him.


End file.
